


Debt

by Nonesane



Category: Pet Shop of Horrors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-19
Updated: 2006-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 03:52:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1630073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonesane/pseuds/Nonesane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unexplained murders and a possible reunion, or.?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debt

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story hasn't been beta-read because of lack of time. I apologize for all the spelling and grammar errors I surely have missed.
> 
> Written for Peroxidepest17

 

 

Someone was still knocking on the door. With a moan of frustration she threw the pillow she'd been covering her ears with to the floor and glared into the darkness. She'd thought whoever it was out there in the hallway would go away if she just ignored them, but apparently people were no longer allowed to sleep at...

She glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and cursed under her breath. It was 3am for Christ's sake!

Five minutes later she gave up, put on her bathrobe and made her way to the door, almost stumbling over a small stack of books. Hector made a small chirping noise when she walked past him, but settled back into sleep as soon as he'd acknowledged her. Apparently not even the sound of fists hitting wood repeatedly would keep him awake if he wished for rest; lucky bastard.

Well by the front door she put her eye to the peephole, trying to see who the maniac outside was. There was a man in the hallway, probably in his early twenties, very average looking. She almost thought she recognized him, but quickly banished that thought. _He'd_ never disturb her in the middle of the night.

Leaving the door chain in place she opened the door a few inches. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded, her eyes narrowed both from annoyance and weariness. She had to get to work tomorrow, how was she supposed to work if she didn't get any sleep? That guy would need a damn good reason for all the racket he'd caused or she'd tear him a new one.

"Hello Samantha," the man said, looking rather unfazed by her unfriendly greeting and exhausted appearance.

"What?" she replied, trying to stifle a yawn. The yawn won the battle, though, and she let her eyelids drift shut as her jaw opened wide. When she opened her eyes again they focused on the barrel of a gun. She gave a yelp and automatically took a step back.

Hector's hysteric screeching was the last thing she heard; then the pain began.

****

The room was gloomy and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. Leon threw his bag on the bed - which was about one step away from being a worn-out mattress on the floor, but he'd seen worse - and walked over to the window. The blinds were half drawn although it had been dark outside for a couple of hours. Not that there was much of a view, just the streetlights and traffic. The whole place was rather bleak.

It suited Leon's mood, though. At the moment all he wanted to do was get really, really drunk. That way he wouldn't have to think, well not coherently at least. With enough alcohol in his blood he wouldn't have to remember his latest screw-up.

Six months! For six months he'd been just one step behind the Count, he'd been sure of it! And now, just a week ago, the man disappeared without a trace. Unbelievable!

Leon banged his forehead against the window with a dull thud. What was he doing, really? Chasing after some guy he'd known for about two years, who quite clearly didn't want to be found. D always vanished just before Leon located the pet shop and only left vague rumors as clues to his next destination. That was, if Leon was lucky. Most of the time there was almost no proof the Count had been there at all. Good thing D didn't look like your average citizen or he'd be impossible to track; as it was now it was just really, really hard.

Leon knew he didn't stand much of a chance, but he still couldn't make himself give up this ghost hunt. He'd thought about it, of course, mostly when D just had given him the slip and sometimes when there'd been one beer too many. Somehow, though, he'd never been able to convince himself to quit.

*Way to go Orcot. You're turning into one of those private eyes on late night TV. Soon you'll have your own dusty office in some shabby suburb, where you can sit and get drunk, brooding about The One That Got Away.* It was meant as a joke, but for a moment he could actually picture himself in that lousy excuse of an office, surrounded by empty bottles, with a week-old stubble on his face.

He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it and took a step back from the window. Maybe he should just go to sleep? Or at least try to. If the bed's appearance was anything to judge his chances of getting some shut-eye by, he'd say they were somewhere between zero and nothing. Damn.

The strings in the mattress creaked alarmingly when he sat down on it, his bag almost tumbling off, distracting him. With an annoyed sigh he caught it, but not before a piece of paper fell out. It was a drawing - a rather crude one, clearly made by a child - that looked like it had seen better days. Leon could almost hear Count D berating him for not showing something his brother had worked hard on proper respect.

As he sat there, staring at the picture without really seeing it, he caught a glimpse of something; something white on the floor that clearly wasn't a part of the broadloom carpet. It was a newspaper, probably left behind by one of the rooms' previous occupants. If whoever cleaned this place had managed to miss that, it didn't bode well for the state of the rest of the room. The sheets in his bed could still be the same ones as those the last guest had used. Oh, joy. Well, at least he'd have something to read before he went to sleep.

Having put his things away and laid down - the mattress was just as uncomfortable as he'd thought it'd be - he began to aimlessly skim through the newspaper. It was two days old, but Leon could really care less. It wasn't as if he was reading it for the fresh news. Mostly he was hoping it'd lull him to sleep, perhaps distract him a little from his current problem, with gossip and the results from old football games.

The articles weren't much to read, as expected. Some famous actress had gotten a boob job, apparently shattering her fans' world into tiny pieces of misery in the process; a random politician had been caught buying a prostitute and...

Leon's eyes widened almost comically as one average sized article caught his eye. The headline was "Unexplained slaughter - body of young woman found in hotel room", followed by a description of a brutal murder. That wasn't what had Leon nearly choking on his own tongue, though. He recognized that girl! She'd been one of the Count's last costumers before he ran off to wherever he now was. When Leon had last seen her, she'd been coming out of the backroom together with D, carrying something that had looked like a birdcage. There hadn't been anything special about her, but there was a photo in the article and that, together with the faint memory of the horrible screeching made by the pet she'd bought, made Leon sure he remembered correctly.

His first thought was that D had to be behind it somehow. It all fit; girl buys pet, girl owns pet, girl ends up horribly mutilated. Neat and logical, in Leon's opinion - well, perhaps not neat, but it fit D's MO perfectly.

That theory only lasted until he finished reading the article. Apparently the pet, a parrot, had also been found dead. I'd had all of its feathers plucked off and had then been stabbed several times and left to bleed to death. Not like D at all. Sure there had been that time with that lizard, but that one's death hadn't been violent in the least and D had obviously been upset. He'd also waxed a lot of poetry over its and the dead guy it belong too, talking about tragic love, but Leon had tuned most of that out (or repressed it. He'd suffered enough of weird things during his "friendship" with D without having to imagine some discharged actor making out with a lizard).

But this was a lead, he was sure of that. Nothing ever happened to D's costumers without him being involved. He felt sorry for the girl, of course, but somehow he couldn't help but feel a bit thankful too.

Sleep suddenly didn't feel so far away. It was as if a heavy weight had slipped off of his shoulders, a worry he hadn't quite acknowledged. Had he really been that sure that he'd lost track of D? Damn, he was starting to get pathetic, getting all mopey over stuff like that.

Leon fell asleep with the newspaper over his eyes, still fully dressed.

****

D raised the teacup to his lips and frowned slightly when he found the liquid in it lukewarm. Had he truly been lost in thoughts for that long? He frowned slightly, set the cup down and rose from his seat. On the table before him several photos were spread out, pictures of animals lying in pools of blood. The entire shop was silent, as if in anticipation.

The Count didn't pace to and fro, but the way he moved about the room slightly suggested that he would have, had he been anyone else. He returned to the table, sat down on the couch, reached for a new cup and filled it with warm tea. This tea seemed to serve the sole purpose of warming his hands, as his attention once more was draw to the photographs. They had been sent to him by and old client - the Don of the Luchiano family, in Los Angeles, USA. Not directly of course, D had revealed his planned route of travel to no one when he left the United States, but the Luchiano family had enough contacts for the photos to - after a few detours - find their way to his shop.

So many deaths and all apparently executed without a motive. There had to be one of course, there always was, but for the time being D could not think of one. The owners of the pets had no ties to one another; the pets were all of different species and breeds. There could be someone with a grudge against the shop, but D could not recall any matters in that city that he had left in an unsatisfactory state.

For a split second the memory of a certain loud, rude LAPD policeman emerged from a corner of D's mind. It was immediately repressed - it was, after all, irrelevant, as the only involvement _that_ man would have in such lunacy was to investigate the murders and arrest the perpetrator, of that D was sure - but it still echoed faintly between the shop's walls.

He could not ignore this. Whoever this murderer was he had to be found and stopped. The police would not do that, there had been too many deaths already for D to put his trust in their abilities. For the moment there was just one solution:

He would have to return to America.

****

Leon fought the urge to just turn around and walk out of the room. It wasn't as much the smell that caused his nausea as the blood. Jesus H. Christ, who knew there could be so much blood in one dog? It was _everywhere_! Thankfully he didn't have to see the dog itself - the pictures Jill had sent him had been gross enough without having to see the real deal. And that was just the pet; the owner hadn't been a pretty sight either.

Twenty minutes later he stood outside the apartment building the crime scene was located in, lighting a much needed cigarette. Fuck, had the murders actually managed to get _crazier_ after D moved out of town? Three weeks had passed since he'd begun this little `investigation' and not only had the number of victims increased rapidly, but their deaths had become more brutal for each case.

And still no clear leads. Sure, he didn't have full access to all information the police had, what with having quit his job half a year ago, but Jill was keeping him up-to-date on the important stuff (he hardly dared imagine what sort of payback she'd demand for her help). There were no fingerprints, no clear motive and no useful witness reports. A man had been spotted at a few of the murder sites, but no one could ever describe him. `Average height, brown hair, dark glasses,' didn't get you very far in the search for a suspect.

Leon blew a few smoking rings, trying to calm down and clear his head so he could think. This all had to have something to do with the Count; that was the only plausible explanation. The pet shop was the only thing all of the victims had in common and D sure had his fair share of enemies - or possible enemies at least. The list of possible suspects was growing thinner, though, and the exclusions were more often caused by the person in question becoming a victim than anything else. So, who had he missed? Who had he forgotten that had it in for D?

Balling his hands into fists - nearly burning his right one on the cigarette in the process - Leon grumbled a string of curses. D couldn't keep his costumers from getting killed even after disappearing! Okay, so maybe D couldn't be held personally responsible for every person that had entered his shop, but _this_ was just plain overkill.

A sudden longing overcame Leon as he stood there, crushing his cigarette and glaring holes in the pavement. He wanted this to be six months ago. He wanted to be able to walk into Chinatown, kick up the door to the pet shop, sit (or rather sprawl) on the Count's couch and vent. It had been one of those habits you don't really know you have until something stops you from doing it; a comfort routine of a sort.

Leon threw what was left of the cigarette into a trashcan. He did no good standing here, daydreaming. D wouldn't just pop out of the ground. No, he would have to be found. And to find him Leon needed a trail to follow, one that perhaps could be discovered by solving these crazy murders. So, back to reality; make a new list of suspects.

With a slight frown Leon began walking. He would have to contact Jill later, see if the police had any new leads; but for now all he could do was wait and think.

****

"A-are you Count D?"

D nearly started at this question. He had hoped to remain anonymous as long as he could while in Los Angeles and had not at all expected to be recognized just after having stepped out of his taxi. He had made sure to direct the driver to an area of the city he had but rarely visited, where no one he had met usually resided. It seemed he was in bad luck tonight, though.

The man - nearly a boy - who had spoken was a rather unnoticeable person; neither tall nor short, hair a dull, brown color and dressed in the same fashion as about half of the cities' youths.

"Yes, I am. May I inquire who's asking?" D replied, giving the young man polite smile.

"Oh, sorry!" A faint blush spread over young man's face, but vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. "I'm Andrew, Andrew Mitchell. About a year ago you sold my cousin, Samantha Lewis, a pet."

Ah, that at least explained the reason for this sudden greeting. "I heard about her tragic death. My condolences," D spoke, waiting for either an accusation or another question.

Instead of doing either of those, the young man looked over his shoulder, almost impatiently. The reason for this soon revealed itself - or rather _herself_. The young woman that walked up to them possessed an aura of self-confidence that greatly outshone her male companion's; a born leader or a trained one, but a leader none the less.

"We think we know who did it," the girl said, pushing a stray lock of red hair behind her ear. "We also think the person's really after you," she informed him, lips pulled up in a self-satisfied smirk.

"Quite to the point, are we?" D said, smile still in place. These two youngsters were interesting. He did not put much faith in their words, but there was a chance that answers could be found by partaking in this little fancy of theirs, whatever it might be.

"I have been accused of being blunt," the young woman confessed, still smirking, "but never of being stupid. We know something and I think you want to know what that is."

D merely lifted an eyebrow at this, amused by the girl's seemingly complete trust in her own control over this situation. Yes, he did indeed wish to hear the information they had for him, but he had enough experience with humans to know when to hide his own motives. He therefore kept his countenance free of any and all signs of interest as he asked: "And why have you come to me with this? The police might find the identity of the murderer most helpful in their investigation."

The young man looked a little uncomfortable at this, whilst the girl's smile all but widened. "From what we've heard you prefer taking care of things like this yourself. We knew you'd show up in L.A. sooner or later, so we waited for you. Whether this psycho gets the chair or not, whatever the government can throw at him isn't good enough. We want proper revenge for Sam's death, and we think you can deliver it."

Revenge, of course; it was, next to love that wasn't reciprocated and greed, the most common motive for a human. There was still something wrong with this situation - the youths being in place to greet him this swiftly and their apparent knowledge his own actions, unsettled him a little - yet D did not fear for his safety. These two were more than they professed themselves to be, but they were still most certainly human.

"Very well then, I will listen to what you have to say, Miss...?"

"Elaine Taylor. And not here, we have to go some place where we can't be overheard." With this the young woman whirled around and began walking in the direction she had come from. The boy smile sheepishly, took a step back and shifted nervously from foot to foot as he waited for D to follow Miss Taylor.

With a soft, resigned sigh D fell in behind the girl. Hopefully this would not take too long; he had a bakery he wished to visit before it closed.

****

Jill wasn't answering her cellphone; that either meant that there had been a break in the case or that she was tired of him calling every other minute. Although the reason probably was the latter of the two, Leon refused to hang up. Giving up would only encourage her, after all.

Finally, after about twenty-five signals, impatience got the better of him. He snapped his phone shut. Now what? He'd been walking around for more than a few hours, thinking, which had led to absolutely nothing. He wasn't a cop anymore so he couldn't question any of the witnesses and was in general not allowed to do anything useful. Hell, just getting to visit the crime scene had been all thanks to Jill.

But he still refused to just sit back and let others do all the work. He was the one who had most experience when it came to freakish shit like this and wasn't going to let a pesky detail such as lack of access to important info hold him back!

His feet were starting to ache so Leon found himself an unoccupied and - somewhat - clean bench to sit on. Where was he, anyways? Oh this was just great. He'd been so concentrated on the case that he'd managed to wander into a part of the city he only vaguely recognized. Way to go Orcot...

It wasn't as if he couldn't find his way back; that was the easy part. The hard part was to summon the will to do so _by foot_; chafed feet and no new ideas, wonderful. He'd just have to sit there and rest until he got some feeling back into his toes before he could even think about moving.

His mood wasn't improved when he looked up and noticed what sort of a store he had ended up sitting in front of. A pet shop; the damn things were stalking him! Luckily this shop appeared to be stuffed full of nauseatingly cute puppies and kittens. There also appeared to be lamps in there that didn't have candles in them and there were windows, big windows. Thank God for small mercies.

Leon's cellphone made a bleeping noise, rudely waking him from the daze he'd managed to lull himself into by watching the aquarium in the store's left show window. A message from Jill, with _pictures_! It seemed like one of the witnesses had managed to get a snapshot of the killer leaving the murder site of his latest victim. It was rather blurry, but it was obviously the right guy. His hair color and clothes fit with all the evidence and the picture had been taken mere minutes after the time of death forensics had given.

The other photos were headshot of suspects - both the likely and less likely ones - whose MOs in some way or other matched that of the current perpetrator's. Did anything more boring than playing find-a-match-for-the-guy-on-the-photo exist? No wonder Jill had given that task to him.

Somewhere around suspect 35 a movement on the other side of the street caught Leon's eye. What the...?!

For the first two seconds Leon thought he was hallucinating or at least dreaming, but once he'd made it clear that he was awake and sober - this involved a lot of pinching and attempts at smelling own breath - there was no doubt about it. There, standing in the doorway to a warehouse, was D.

How dared that bastard show up out of the blue like that?! Leon's first impulse was to shout D's name at the top his lungs. That impulse was swiftly squashed to death by surprise. D wasn't alone, and he had some damn suspicious company with him.

Leon looked down at the picture currently highlighted on his cellphone, looked across the street again and then down at the phone a second time. He glanced over his shoulder at the aquarium once and gritted his teeth.

With a growled, "it's _D_ for crying out loud! Why should anything make sense?" Leon began to make his way towards the warehouse.

****

"This should be safe enough," Elaine commented as they entered a room at the end of yet another hallway.

"Indeed," D replied, "but for whom, if I may ask?" The two young humans looked up at him with surprise in their eyes.

"I find it unlikely that our meeting, so soon after my arrival, was a coincidence," D continued, ignoring their startled looks. He took a seat in a chair - the room's only - by the far wall and crossed one of leg over the other, making himself as comfortable as possible in such a barren place. "The only possible answer to this riddle is that you had me watched ever since I arrived in America. And I highly doubt that young people such as yourself could have accomplished such a feat without help - help I'm sure neither of you could afford unless you had...connections."

D turned his soul piercing gaze on the young woman of the pair. "So tell me, Miss Taylor, why did you see it fit to bring me here?"

****

Andrew felt his whole world fall apart around him as Elaine only grinned wickedly at the Count's odd question. Then she pulled out a gun. Elaine. She couldn't, right? She couldn't have...

"You're actually as clever as I've heard Count," she spat at the Chinese man, still with that twisted grin on her face. Andrew was beginning to feel queasy - that sort of sickening feeling you got in your stomach just before you figured out something really horrible had happened. "Don't know how you figured out who I am, but I guess no one's identity truly can be kept secret."

"So it would seem," was the Count's only reply and how the guy could stay so freaking calm with a gun pointed at his head was beyond Andrew.

"No matter, I would have had to tell you sooner or later anyway. Yeah I did have people looking for you. I've had people watching every possible way into L.A. ever since I slit Sam's throat."

And there was the dreaded realization, served on a blood-dripping plate. "You bitch!" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "She was your best friend! How the fuck could you..." The gun, now pointed at _his_ head, made him trail off.

"I swear Andrew that if I didn't need you later, I'd shoot you right now. Shut up!"

Later, what did she mean by that?

"Now, now Miss Taylor, calm yourself," the Count interrupted, voice still not showing the slightest sign of worry, just like the rest of him. Somehow the way the man's left eye - the golden one - faintly reflected the light made Andrew shudder. "I'm sure you wish to finish your explanation."

Elaine gave Andrew one last, disgusted look, before turning her attention - and weapon - back to the Count. "There's not much to explain, really. I want you to work for me."

This, at least, invoked a reaction from the Count, if only a slight one - he raised one eyebrow. "I see. And what use could my humble pet shop be to you, Miss Taylor?"

"Don't give me that bullshit! _Everyone_ who's ever had anything to do with that shop of yours know you're no more a `humble pet shop owner' than I'm Mother Teresa. You see, my previous boss bought a pet from you, something he wouldn't show to anyone. Then one morning we found him and his wife in his apartment, guts ripped open and spread out for the world to see. They looked like they'd been eaten by a wolf. And you know what the funny thing was? We couldn't find that pet of his anywhere, only a contract with a weird set of rules, from your shop. Guess he broke them when he showed the doggie to the Missus."

Andrew gasped. What kind of a nightmare had he ended up in? Elaine was some ganger leader and he was being held hostage together with a serial killer in a dress. God, why couldn't he just _wake up_ already?!

"After that I did some research concerning your shop," Elaine went on, completely ignoring her surroundings, except for the Count. "It turned out that you're a suspect of several...interesting...murder cases and that your shop was under investigation by the police during most of the time you spent here. You left town - or should I say fled? - when the FBI caught up with you, so I'm guessing you have quite a lot of experience."

The Count leaned back in his chair, not looking very impressed with this. "And this is why you saw fit to being slaughtering my former costumers?"

At this Elaine laughed. "Hardly; they just got in the way of my real targets; the pets." The Count only nodded at this, as if he'd suspected it all along, while Andrew had to bite his tongue not to scream out loud. Sam was _dead_ because Elaine hadn't liked her parrot? That was just so fucked up!

"You see, Count, it took some time to figure out what would make you come back here - you're extremely good at disappearing, I'll give you that. I knew it'd get a chance to talk to you if you came back to L.A. and if I knew _when_ you were coming back. That's where the pets come in. They were all I had to work with you see, as you have a reputation of not caring much about us `humans' - as I've been told you like to express it. So, my only shot was that you'd care enough about your reputation, or perhaps even the pets themselves, if they and their owners started dying randomly, contract broken or not." That disturbing smile was back on Elaine's face. "I must tell you, that part of my plan was _fun_. It really challenged my imagination. And I don't think I'll need to explain more, right Count? I think you can imagine plenty of ways a man with your resources could be of use to any organization."

The Count seemed to be lost in thought for a moment; then he replied. "I fear that, as generous as it surely is, I cannot accept your offer." This did not seem to faze Elaine in the least. Her right index finger began to squeeze the trigger of her gun and Andrew wanted to squeeze his eyes shut, but couldn't make himself look away.

"I thought you'd say that. No matter," Elaine commented as she slowly, slowly prepared to shoot the Count. In that moment Andrew didn't recognize her at all. He'd never thought anyone he knew would be able to shoot someone in cold blood, especially not in this drawn out manner. Elaine seemed to actually be enjoying it. "Now that you're here it'll be easy to backtrack your travel route. Having you as well as your animals would have been a bonus, but you can't always get what you want, right? Watching you die will be amusing enough to make up for that, I've always liked them pretty."

The sickening crack of metal smashing against a human skull prevented the gunshot just in time. Elaine's body immediately went lax and fell to the ground, revealing the form of a man standing in the doorway behind her, holding a dusty fire extinguisher in his hands.

"I chase you all over Europe, a good part of Asia and _this_ is where I find you. Talk about irony."

"D-detective?" Andrew tore his gaze away from Elaine's still form to focus it on the Count. There was a clear change in the Chinese man's voice; it was less cold and controlled. He sounded surprised and almost...almost angry. His facial expression was different too. Seconds ago it had been serene and nearly doll-like, even though he was facing certain death. Now, when the threat had been averted and this man had entered the room, the Count's eyebrows had climbed so high on his forehead that they'd all but disappeared into his hair.

"The one and only!" the man in the doorway replied with a wide grin, stepping into the room. "Surprised?" At this the movement of the Count's eyebrows changed direction; they dived down into a furious scowl.

"What, not happy to see me?" the `Detective' went on, grin still in place. "How weird; I thought I'd at least get a `nice to see you again' after _six_. Damn. Months!" The change in mood was so sudden that it took Andrew's brain a few moments to process it. The `Detective's' face had morphed into a scowl to match - and perhaps even triumph over - the Count's and the volume of his voice had risen to the borderline of pain in a matter of seconds. Andrew would have been impressed if he hadn't been so disturbed by it.

"Detective, please explain yourself," the Count hissed in reply and if Andrew had thought his voice had sounded cold before it had now dropped below the freezing point and then some.

"_I_ should explain myself?" the `Detective' yelled, looking just about ready to burst an artery. "What about you? You're the one who just left!"

"I do believe I had clear reasons for doing so."

"Really? Well then I don't think my reasons for follow are any weirder!" By this stage in the fight the two men were standing toe-to-toe, shouting in each other's faces. Andrew, who at first had thought the `Detective' had come there to arrest the Count - that comment `Elaine' had made about the FBI agent seemed to have been true - was starting to doubt that theory. Cops didn't act this way around criminals they'd chase half way around the world. They were more like...

"And what reasons could you have to justify continuing with this...this foolishness?" The Count's voice interrupted Andrew's musings.

"You owe me!"

Shocked silence followed this last outburst; even the `Detective' seemed surprised by what he had said. Seconds later they all began speaking at once:

"I-I mean...I..."

"In which exact manner do you claim me to be indebted to..."

"Excuse me, but _what_ is going on here?"

The Count and the `Detective' froze a second time, looking at Andrew as if seeing him for the first time. The awkward silence was broken by the distant sound of sirens.

"Finally!" the `Detective' said, glaring in the direction of the noise. "Don't worry kid, I explained everything to them when I called."

"Explained what?"

The `Detective' seemed to have been expecting that question. "How `Elaine' here dressed up as you, killed thirteen people and kept you as an alibi."

Andrew was speechless, numb from shock. He almost failed to catch the phone the `Detective' threw to him. There was a picture on the screen that looked familiar in an eerie sort of way. "T-that's me!" But it couldn't be. Andrew had no memory of that hallway or that building.

"No, that's `Elaine'. LAPD's been keeping an eye on her for a couple of years now, so I guess she wanted to draw as little attention to herself as possible. Being suspected of mutilating and killing a number of people is quite different from actually being arrested for it; I guess I can see the logic in not wanted to be recognized."

Andrew knew he must have looked very blank - he felt very blank, so why shouldn't he have looked it as well? Thankfully the `Detective' took pity on him.

"I'll skip the gory details. All you need to know is that `Elaine' here is involved in some pretty sick shit and that she's had the cops after her for years."

The `Detective's' phone made a clattering noise as it hit the ground. It took Andrew a moment to realize he had dropped it. He felt shaky all over and the sound of sirens - which was growing louder by the second - and that faint groan coming from Elaine, weren't helping much.

Halfway through his third attempt at accepting the fact that his cousin's best friend of two years really was a crazy serial killer Andrew's thoughts were thrown off track by an angry:

"What the f... - where did he go?"

The Count was gone. Somehow he'd managed to sneak out through the room's emergency exit - that had been left slightly ajar in a very telling way - without either of them hearing. The `Detective's' eyes had gotten a wild, nearly mad look in his them. Andrew didn't quite know who to feel sorrier for at that moment; the `Detective' or the Count when the `Detective' caught up with him again.

"I've got to go," the `Detective' said, jaw clenched shut so tightly his words sounded smashed and injured. "The police will be here in thirty seconds so she won't wake up before they but cuffs on her. I'll give them a call later; make sure no stupid rookie has decided to blame you for everything. You'll be fine as long as you answer all questions they ask you."

Andrew barely heard the last of the `Detective's' advice since the man had exited the room halfway through it, obviously to follow the Count. Twenty-six seconds later the cops came.

****

"Wait! Wait just a goddamned second, D!" There really was no point in shouting - it wasn't as if the Count would actually stop - but Leon wasn't about to let that bastard slip away in silence again. His only chance at catching D would most likely be to actually _catch_ him, but that was more than unlikely - Leon wasn't even sure if he was running in the right direction.

"My dear Detective, please do not exhaust yourself unnecessarily. I am right here."

Leon nearly stumbled over his own feet at that. The last thing he'd expected to happen was that the Count would answer him. This had to either be his lucky day or a dream.

"So I'm `dear detective' now?" he said, trying to sound indifferent and failing miserably.

D smiled. It was one of those fond smiles people generally bestowed upon puppies who were doings something pointless but adorable. Some might have called it affectionate. Leon suspected it had more to do with the fact that D was standing on top of a brick wall - secure in the knowledge that he at any moment could jump down on the other side of it and be gone before Leon could as much as blink - than affection of any kind.

"Of course," D replied and the smile faltered for the briefest of seconds.

"I suppose asking you to come down here will be meaningless," Leon stated after a moment spent silently staring at one another. He couldn't think of anything else to say. The whole situation was too surreal; D was there, they were alone in some dark alleyway in L.A. and Leon couldn't have been happier or angrier.

D's only reply was a nod.

"What's your problem D, really? Why can't you just...I mean, it's not like you have to run from me to keep yourself safe or anything. I'm not a cop anymore so I can't arrest you, even if I wanted to, and I sure as hell ain't gonna rat you out to anyone. Who would believe me anyway?" Leon knew he was shouting again, but didn't care. "Why haven't you let that freakish goat eat me already, if you don't want me to find you?"

"If things only were that simple." Leon almost didn't hear what D said - or more like whispered - but he wasn't going to ignore it just because of that.

"What do you mean `simple'? How could letting me be the breakfast of goat be simple? But then again it's _you_ I'm talking to." He paused. "Fuck it _is_ you I'm talking to."

"Language Detective."

"Oh I knew that one was coming, sooner or later." Laughter was slowly creeping into Leon's tone of voice, pushing aside the rage. "God this - this is seriously fucked up." And it was. Here he was, feeling better than he had in months, just because of D. He couldn't explain it, not even to himself, but getting to shout like this, to _talk_ - if that's what it could be called - with the Count, almost made the six months worth it.

D was looking down on him with a mixture of disapproval, amusement and something else in his eyes.

"Isn't this the part where you disappear again?" Leon mumbled, anger and laughter having balanced out to a false sort of calm. "Or are you going to come down here? Before I get a wryneck I mean."

The only reply was a slight widening of D's smile.

"And why not?" Perhaps it was a stupid question, but Leon really needed the answer.

Suddenly D wasn't standing on the brick wall anymore. He was right in front of Leon, their chests and faces about two inches apart and there was a whispered thought of `That's why'. Leon couldn't breathe, couldn't talk, couldn't fucking meet that piercing gaze with his own. So he closed his eyes.

A faint brush of lips against lips....

And then D was gone.

Hours later, back at the hotel, Leon took out Chris' drawing from the bag again. He hadn't managed to sort out his feelings about...everything, yet - he'd never been good with the touchy feely stuff - but he wasn't going to let himself be freaked out by _that_; especially now when D, for some probably completely insane reason, had give him the name of his next destination. It had been quite weird to find it scrawled on a note in the pocket of his jeans when undressing for a shower.

Trusting D to give up his future destination willingly might be stupid, but Leon couldn't care less about that. He was done with trying to analyze D or anything he did, things just didn't work that way. All he was going to do now was sleep.

 


End file.
